All Signs Point to This Ending Badly
by saradelovely
Summary: You Know I Love You, Don't You?
1. Chapter 1

They get into a heated argument where there are careless words exchanged on a wave of fiery indignation. It always begins in the usual way, he picks a fight because he's _still _unsure of all the reasons they're together; his insecurity has the ability to cripple the relationship. Hers add no particular benefit, she's always in the between wondering what he sees in her. She has never been involved in a relationship prior to this; it is natural for her to question things.

Typically, they never fight because it is Rachel's belief that words tossed in the heat of the moment do little but hurt the opposition. There are merely careful debates where each party irons out a list of grievances, a list, and she often makes Puck sit with her until each grievance on the list is resolved. Puck only puts up with that shit because the make up sex is always worth the hours of discussion.

She storms out in the middle of Glee rehearsal, slamming the door behind her because she can't look at him at the moment. He's said something careless again, the words causing the tightly wounded coils inside to snap. She hides in the girls bathroom, waiting for her tears to pass and for the ache in her chest to subside. She will cry herself to tears until a calming presence takes the place of her tears. When she pulls herself off the bathroom floor, she smooths out her hair and the stains off her skirt, and she breathes; soft bursts of air escaping from the bottom of her throat.

Breathe through your stomach, Rachel. _Breathe_. Everything will be fine, she reassures herself, whispering words of solace to her ears. Everything will be fine and they will be happy again tomorrow because despite the assumptions of everyone else, they are happy together and they enjoy the time they spend together.

When she is positive that everyone has departed from the vicinity, she carefully gathers her belongings from the rehearsal space and walks to her car, her thoughts less on the argument and more on the resolution that will occur tomorrow. The tension between them will clear, and she will reassure him that despite his many doubts, they are a well matched couple. She has strong feelings for him and despite his initial reservations to the relationship, she knows that he has feelings for her too. Given his background on feelings and relationships, she knows it is often difficult for him to express his emotions but they will tackle that problem because they will get through these feelings and conflicts together. They will apologize, they will have sex (perhaps even on public property?) and everything will be fine.

She comes home and she watches _Rent_ with a bowl of ice cream, highlighters in her hand for the index cards she will need the following day. She will not read off them in front of him, of course, but she likes to be prepared in advance. She wants to make sure that she says the correct words and conveys enough emotion without being overzealous. She goes to sleep early that night and a smile tugging at her face; everything will be fine.

By the time Rachel walks into school the next morning, slightly later than usual because she forgot her cue cards, everyone seems to know what she does not know. There are people who whisper behind her back, and even Quinn looks embarrassed; she avoids her questioning gaze. Of all people, it is Finn who wears a puppy dog expression and tells her what nobody else will. He throws her a paper airplane in the middle of Spanish class and she feels her blood run cold.

_ Puck left with a blond Cheerio yesterday_.

She blinks at the note, the blocks of black letters pressed against a contrasting white page. It dawns on her slowly; the rumors were in reference to this. She sits still in her chair and she is nothing if not an actress; she will wear a mask and she will pretend that this does not bother her. The bell rings and she does not turn to look at Finn. She walks out of her classroom with her head held high and her emotions in check. There is no need to let others know that Puck's actions have gotten to her.

The whispers press against her back, and while the words are soft, they reverberate harshly in her ears. It is lunch time now and from prior experiences she knows that Puck usually spends his time fraternizing by the door while he waits for her. She has not seen him prior to lunch time and she has no wish to. She ducks into a janitor's closet.

She leans against the door and her knees buckle; she sinks down to the floor, her knees pressed into her chest, her chin tucked against one. She closes her eyes but the tears do not come; perhaps she cried herself out the previous afternoon.

She wills herself to cry, to show some emotion but the tears do not come. However, there is a feeling bubbling inside of her, a feeling that multiples quickly by blood cells leading to an ache in her heart, falling to an ache in her chest, resting at the bottom of her stomach.

She is not surprised this happened, she cannot feign shock or bewilderment. She was forewarned that Puck is a man whore. She was informed to leave the relationship while every organ was intact, and while the loss would not cut so deep. She was told that he was fantastic between the sheets and he was better at breaking hearts. Love 'em and leave 'em, that was the motto.

However, she had made an error in judgment. She believed in false assumptions and a false sense of security that things between them were well. Better than well. Fantastic. She believed that things were fine. He and Finn had made up, an olive branch; a truce on the road paved to forgiveness. He had met her fathers who had given their approval and deemed him worthy despite their original impressions that their daughter was involved with a juvenile delinquent and participating in sexual activities with a hooligan. However, he evoked feelings of happiness inside her and she thought she was able to do the same for him.

She frowns. She remembers the note that Finn flew her way. There is one thing that was written that did not surprise her.

Puck left the school with a blond. Rachel has always been privy to the fact that his preference is blond.


	2. Chapter 2

These are the facts, tangible facts that cannot be manipulated.

Puck was angry at Berry for being a pain in the ass. Fact.

Puck drove Susan home because she needed a ride. Fact.

Puck _did _kiss Susan but he will rationalize this in his head. He only kissed back because she leaned first. It was an accident, and he wasn't thinking properly. Fact.

Nothing happened. _False._

He scratches his head. It may have turned into something more after that but he's too ashamed to think back. Fact.

Puck doesn't call Rachel that night, he doesn't see the point of telling her something that would only antagonize her further, especially after what happened between them earlier this afternoon. He laughs at the memory, she _always_ gives as good as she gets, sometimes even better. He thinks he could keep the afternoon a secret, the truth covered by a hidden veil. He thinks he could trust Susan, a girl with a reputation for bragging, to not tell. This will be his sole indiscretion, a blemish on the clean slate of his relationship. Nothing like this has happened before, he consoles himself. Nothing like this will happen after.

When he wanders into school the next morning, late per usual, he sees smirks passing him by and his eyes narrow. He wracks his mind; nothing out of the ordinary comes to mind for the stares, aside from the fight with Rachel but he shrugs his shoulders at the thought. He doubts the school body, if anyone at all, cares about the argument with his girlfriend. They've become known for their arguments, he thinks wryly. Arguments between them are old news at this point. His first thought is not of Susan and her loose lips.

When Rachel doesn't meet him by their usual spot, he has a sinking feeling in his stomach that something happened, that she _knows_. She is always there, she always shows up even when he's late. He knows she is in school, he glanced in at her room on his way to the nurse. He swallows uncomfortably, convincing himself to not jump to any rash assumptions.

He waits by their meeting spot for several minutes, his feet moving back and forth. She doesn't come, and her phone goes to her voice mail. He walks away, careful not to make eye contact with any of his fellow students. He should have known better, Puck curses to himself. He should have known that Susan would not keep her mouth shut.

When he finds Rachel, she's sitting on the floor of the closet, her pen scratching across paper, her ears filled with her iPod headphones. She doesn't look up when she sees him slip him into the room but she knows he's there; she's always possessed an uncanny ability to sense his presence nearby.

For the longest time, he sits there on the floor, across from her and not next to her. He wants to reach out and brush the stray strands curving to her cheek but his fingers are immobile, they're partially frightened by the expression on her face. He expected anger, maybe tears, perhaps an argument. He didn't expect a stare void of emotion and he finds himself wondering which is worse.

"Hi," he whispers softly, his eyes boring onto her, waiting for her to look up, to say something; _anything_. He shifts his weight back and forth uncomfortably when her only reaction is silence.

"Can you, like, yell at me or something? That would be nice."

He thinks screaming would be preferable to her cold silence, the chill that emanates.

She looks at him, her gaze fixated on a point above his head; she doesn't make eye contact and when she finally speaks, her tone clipped.

"After the Finn debacle, where I tried numerous methods to catch his attention, I gave up and promised myself that I would never let a boy humiliate me that way again. I promised myself that I wouldn't allow myself to be put into a similar position but here we are, a replica of my previous experience."

She pauses, allowing herself to catch her composure. She will _not_ cry or break down, or show emotion; she does the best to keep the trembling from becoming evident. There will be nothing of the sort. Her lips are tightly pressed together, only allowing the wisps of the words to travel freely.

"When I began to date you, we agreed there would be an out clause that either of us would be able to trigger, an out clause in the event that one, or both, of us were becoming dissatisfied with the relationship. This option was designed specifically for the dissolution of our relationship with both our desires and feelings in mind."

She swallows her bile before continuing; she can feel it increasing rapidly at the bottom of her stomach.

"We had an out clause that you had the potential to effectively used instead of humiliating me in front of the entire student body. On my way here, I could see it in people's faces, how sad they felt for me; the sympathy in their eyes that my boyfriend couldn't keep his hands to himself after a fight. In the two minute walk to find a hiding spot, I heard stories ranging from you're a serial cheater to you had sex with her several times in the back of your truck, that you whispered into her ear how much better she is than me. Do you know what that's like? To hear those words uttered to your face; people not bothering to hide?"

She wants to explain how everything feels magnified, how the act plays on loop beneath her eye lids; how she's grateful she's sitting in the dark because she thinks she would lose her insides at the sight of him in the light. Briefly, she allows herself to wonder if there's sorrow on his face, if regret clutters his features.

"I'm sorry," he says weakly, feeling worse and worse by the minute. He wonders if this feeling can be traced along the lines of sorrow, regret, _mistake_. He wonders what words would rectify the situation, even he knows how wrong _i'm sorry _is.

"I love you," he bursts out suddenly, the words surprising even himself. He says them and he feels ashamed; he knows she can see right through his intentions.

A time ago, she would have killed for those words from him. A time ago, her heart believes she could have loved him too. Tiny fragments in her brain spin in circular patterns, she can't help but wonder if he felt that way about Quinn once.

"Don't do that. Don't use love as a method of forgiveness. I shouldn't have expected change from you, especially given your reputation. I should have realized pursuing a relationship with you will only lead me down a road of disappointment."

"That's not fair, Rachel."

"Don't talk to me about fair. We have a fight and this is how you repay me. After Quinn, I would have assumed that you learned your lesson about cheating. Everything makes its way to surface eventually."

The silence between the pair continues to widen, growing and growing until she's sure it's run out of space.

"I don't think we should be friends. I'd rather not pretend that everything is satisfactory between us. I would prefer we keep things civil and orderly, nothing out of the ordinary. Regionals is coming soon and I would hate to see the team be at an advantage because of the animosity between us," she says quietly.

"That's it, then? This is our end? After all this, those petty arguments and everything we've been through?"

Rachel stares at Puck, a mixture of pity and disgust evident in her eyes. He can feel her the sadness of her smile in the darkness, a quiet smile that he's come to know so well. He remembers how easily she molds against him the darkness.

"How did you think we were going to end?"

She can feel him look away, her eyes heavy on his face.

He runs his hand through his hair, it makes its way down to the back of his neck to scratch.

"I don't know. Not like this." _I didn't think it would_, he thinks.

She is the first of the two to leave the room. He watches her stand up from her position on the floor, smooth out the lint that accumulated on her skirt and gather her books. Her body moves gracefully, as he imagined she would. Her hand is on the door handle and she turns to look at him; he half expects her to say some biting comment; a part of him hopes that this was an elaborate dream sequence and she's going to turn around and say _gotcha! _any minute now. His hope is wrong when he looks up again. She leaves without a good-bye or even a nod of acknowledgment and in the back of his mind, doubt begins to creep its way in. They weren't supposed to end like this, he expected a better ending of sorts. He stays there on the floor, and his mind grabs for the memories that begin to slowly seep in.

He remembers feeling warm prior to this, he remembers he began to change for her but he couldn't change himself enough, not nearly enough if this is where their relationship has led to. He puts his head in his hands, the harsh light of reality hitting his system like a tornado flying through the air, and he wonders what to do next.


	3. Chapter 3

Persistently, Puck calls Rachel thirty two times over the weekend, leaving winded messages she isn't in the mood to listen to. She sends the calls to her voice mail, firmly aware she is likely to never listen to them. She understands it very well. He's remorseful, he's seeking forgiveness and redemption. She tries to keep her cool, her composure is the only thing she has left in this relationship, rather, what's left. She ignores the nagging voice in the back of her mind, the one that keeps repeating _if he kept it in his pants, there wouldn't be any need to seek forgiveness._ She doesn't stop to discuss feelings of inadequacy. His infidelity, while directly affecting her, is not a reflection of her imperfections. This is not a reflection of her ability to be a superior girlfriend, she repeats to herself; the words eventually becoming a mantra to her ears. She deletes his number from her phone, a feeble attempt at removing the temptation of returning his calls. She has his number ingrained in her memory, she isn't sure it would be possible to forget if she tried.

Sunday night, he ends the phone calls, driving over to her house. After an hour of ringing her doorbell, her father opens the door, greeting him with a stony stare. Puck swallows. He has never done well with fathers, and Berry has two. Puck waits for her father to do something, anything, but Barry only gestures up the stairs to her room. Surprised, he walks up. Rachel stands there silently, her eyes glazed with iciness. Her thumbs are hooked into the edges of her skirt, and she looks relatively normal. He wonders where she's hiding her emotions.

"It's freezing outside. I thought you'd never let me in," he says, rubbing his hands together for warmth. He tries to make light of the situation, perhaps diffuse the tension with humor.

"Eventually, you would have left."

"We should talk about what happened."

She feigns a puzzled look but he's not buying what she is attempting to sell.

"Berry, you know we need to talk. We need to talk so you can work on forgiving me."

"How presumptuous. It may have been easy for you to commit the actions that you did; it may even be easy enough for you stand here in front of me, expectantly waiting for my forgiveness. You're wrong. It's soon, it's too soon. You are incorrect in your assumptions that I would want to see you this quickly, much less want to open this topic for discussion but you're here, I suppose we should proceed. I would prefer to get this over with rather quickly."

The two lapse into awkward silence after her speech, he's unsure what to reply. She's always possessed a knack for long run on sentences, the words winding around everything.

"I made a list," she says finally. "I composed a list of contractual obligations for you to follow to prevent the occurrence of any future incidents. Perhaps you could take it home and review it in the event there are terms and conditions you would like to amend, or even add. You could review this list, and if you are still interested in repairing the damage you've inflicted onto our relationship, then you're free to court me. I don't want the eyes of the school on me, pitying that I took back a cheater. Currently, our relationship has hit a standstill, a pause if you will. I do not wish to be referenced as your girlfriend during this current stage. I'd rather not be referenced as your anything. I'm not taking you back without your necessary steps to resolve this. If not, then perhaps, perhaps your indiscretion only quickened the dissolution of our relationship."

"Court?"

She cocks her head at him, the corners of her lips tilting downward at the way the word falls from his lips.

"Yes. It is a prerequisite for any relationship. Courting often involves flowers and chocolates, dating in restaurants and perhaps Friday night movies. I'm not familiar with the ritual but I suppose you could inquire around for more logistics. We did not have any courting in the beginning of our relationship, what with Quinn and Finn, and various other external factors. Me and you quickly fell into the swing of things and in hindsight, that may have not been a wise decision, especially given the circumstances we find ourselves in now."

He wants to roll his eyes and comment on the situation that brought them together but he bites his tongue; he doesn't see it being helpful at this stage. He's already fucked, there's no need to further destroy things. His brain routes to a different tactic.

"I love you, I'm sorry; isn't that enough?"

She blinks once but she isn't surprised he would attempt to play the feelings card. Normally, he hates discussing feelings but not this time, not when he's left her with this humiliation to bear. She watches him, studying the breaths he takes while he waits for her to speak. She feels the panic snake across her rib cage, tightening and suffocating her organs, as she absorbs his brief sentence; the breath stopping in her throat. She blinks, startled. She was once able to breathe in unison with his heart, the two of them fused together from all they do together, all they say. She's felt his voice vibrate against her skin, leaving an imprint she's not sure she can scrub off.

_ Snap out of it_, she thinks. _Snap out of it_.

"I fail to see what role love has to play in any of this. If you're gazing at me because you would like me to repeat the words back you, you're mistaken. I like you, love carries too much weight for me to admit to such a thing, especially to a boy who just cheated on me and is expecting me to pretend that everything is fine. Furthermore, it's a bit uncouth of you to want that from me to begin with. I like you but right now I don't like you enough. I don't particularly care for your face. Please vacate my premises."

She walks over to her bedside table, and pulls out the writing, the list she formulated. Taking the list from her hands, he folds it gently and puts it into his pocket. He reaches out to touch her wrist, to trace the skin with his thumb he's done times before, but he sees her flinch; he drops his hand before he has the chance to be burned by the flame. He looks at her silently, his eyes washing over her, waiting and hoping she'll add something more to her words.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow, then."

She nods in confirmation and after he's gone, she lays on her bed; her eyes directed at the ceiling, wondering if this is the right decision. She doesn't believe she thought this through very much. She doesn't think she's thought through the judgmental stares she's bound to receive from others. She's setting a very dangerous precedent for this behavior. People will look at her and assume she let Puck get away with his actions, he's liable to repeat them again. Frowning, she turns over to the side facing the wall. She has a feeling she's likely to get little sleep tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Rachel chooses her attire carefully. Her eyes scan the items in her closet, hoping to stumble across the perfect outfit; one that would yell _you stupid stupid man,_ allowing Puck to ruminate his actions. She wants to look beautiful, not that she doesn't already, but she wants to look beautiful as all girls do when they come across their ex for the first time after the relationship has drawn to a close. She doesn't want to appear a crumpled mess, composure is everything.

She will not take him back, she thinks forcefully. _No_. She doesn't condone cheating, and she doesn't condone the uncomfortable position he's placed her in.

Glancing at the clock, she realize she'll be late if she doesn't pick something so she grabs anything from the closet and in the car, she tries not to concentrate on the fact that she picked red and he loves red. She wonders if her subconscious picked red purposely, if her heart is picking a fight on purpose. Her fingers grip the steering wheel tightly, and she consoles herself with positive thoughts; _you can do this_. It is high school, she thinks. High school relationships never have the ability to count for anything of importance. It's better that things ended now rather than having to deal with a messy end afterwards.

She pulls her car into the parking lot, and sits still for a minute. Her eyes are on the bright light of the sun reflecting from her window, and she laughs ruefully; even today is another day in the endless string of mockeries life bestows upon her. She leaves her car, slipping into the school unscathed, no one has noticed her arrival as of yet.

On the other side of the building, away from Rachel's eyes, Susan pounces on Puck. He tries not to groan when cornered. She smiles seductively up at him, twirling the edges of her hair between her fingers. Puck holds his vomit at bay while he stares at her expectantly; he wants to get this over with as soon as possible.

"I don't have cheer leading practice after school today."

Puck arches an eyebrow and can't help the thoughts falling through his brain; he gave up Rachel for _this_? He puts his fingers to his temple, massaging the headache slowly forming. Times like this makes him pine for alcohol to be located _somewhere_ on school grounds.

"I could care less."

Susan frowns, the words slowly registering in her brain.

"What about two days ago?"

"It was a mistake and it sure as hell didn't mean anything. Now move, you're in my way."

He pushes her away, but considerately because he's never been the type to shove girls, and he continues his way to find Rachel. He finds her by her locker, slouching to avoid being seen amongst the crowd. His hand sticks out the grape concoction. He wears a quiet expression, and Rachel's eyes dart back and forth from his eyes to the drink. She looks at his outward hand, and she feels a wave of nausea hit her. She remembers the first time he brought her one, the first time it was an olive branch between the two. She shakes her head as a look of confusion settles into his eyes.

"Why not?" He asks finally, his voice is quiet. She watches as his fingers curl around the plastic cup, tightening and tightening and she can't help but wonder if the strength of his hands will be enough to break it. She doesn't stay long enough to find out. She closes her locker door and walks away, his eyes sharpening on her back.

Puck sighs at her reaction, discarding the drink into the nearest trash bin, and makes his way to the nurse's office. This day could use a good nap. He finds himself sleeping through the day, hauling his ass from the comfortable position when he notices it's time for Glee. He debates attending but sighing heavily, he makes his way over.

Rachel finds herself wishing Glee was canceled, a first for her. She loves Glee, she does; the ability to become lost in the music, to become complete with the words she cannot express. Still, his presence at Glee does nothing for her ability to concentrate, to focus. She had managed to avoid him for the entire day easily enough. They do not have classes together, and she hid in the library during lunch, her eyes reading the same lines over and over again.

On her way to Glee, Rachel quickly stops by the girl's bathroom, intent on washing her face and perhaps apply a coat of blush to hide the pale color she's aware is seeping into her cheeks. She wants to check her watch, keep aware that she is not running late for the afternoon but she knows that when she'll look at the clock, she'll always come to associate the time with her steps away from her first relationship. She sighs and figures being less than punctual once is unlikely to do any damage. Walking into the bathroom, her eyes glance in the mirror and she sees Susan standing there, fixing her make-up. Seeing Rachel walk in, her mouth turns into a widening smirk. Taking a deep breath, Rachel walks over to the mirror and resolves to keep the upper hand; she's intent on avoiding speaking to the girl. Rachel has never understood how easily girls can become involved with boys that are taken; how easily they cheat.

She blames them both.

"I can give him whatever he likes, you know."

Rachel looks at the other girl distastefully, her lip curling upwards with disgust. The _nerve_ of her to speak.

"And what may that be?"

Susan looks at Rachel carefully, her eyes giving her a one over. She had expected the brunette to break down easily upon discovering the news of what happened but the other girl hasn't much less flinched.

"Obviously, whatever _you_ couldn't provide."

"I wouldn't get too comfortable with that assumption if I were you. It's unlikely that you and Puck will be anything more than a passing fling in the backseat of his truck one time. He'll get bored of you and you'll just be another girl, one more in a set of nameless faces; like those cookie cutter dolls of paper."

Susan's eyes narrow and she flips her hair on the way out.

"You'll see," her voice carries as she walks away. Rachel rolls her eyes and breathes, walking slowly to the practice room. Her head is pounding, small lyrical notes that are worming their way into the base of her skull. She smiles mirthlessly, hoping that it would be a quiet day and Mr. Schuester will not pay her any attention. Glancing at the giddy expression on the teacher's face, she realizes she is out of luck. Mr. Schuester has this bright idea of dividing everyone into groups, another performance to test their abilities in unison.

"Rachel and Puck will take this song, I want to hear Puck with lead vocals again. I'll give you several minutes to rehearse. I know how much she likes to have the warm up exercises. The rest of you, please split into the groups you were assigned to."

Mr. Schuester claps his hands, looking delighted with himself for an ingenious idea. It came to him yesterday evening; he was preparing for today's rehearsal and it dawned upon him that Rachel and Puck have never sung a song together worthy of their caliber and he's seen them interact, their relationship on solid ground.

The Glee kids exchange glances amongst themselves, all of them exchanged in a internal debate as to who should break the news of the end. Nobody says anything as Rachel calmly walks over to the other side of the room, denying the others who anticipated a tantrum or her to storm out. Nothing of that sort happens, and Kurt tries to keep his jaw from falling onto the floor when he sees Rachel stick out her hand to Puck.

He takes it, gingerly, and he lets her lead him further away from the group; her hand dropping his it like it's fire when it's just the two of them. He puts his hands in his pockets and looks around sheepishly.

_Awkward_, he thinks.

"So," he says, breaking the silence first.

"So," she replies and he can't help but smile sadly at the answer. One syllable responses have never been her forte. He waits for her to continue, hesitant to carry the conversation. "I would prefer not to strain my vocal chords; I've already practiced so if you would like to engage in small talk so it looks as though we are occupied, we could."

She is being civil and has resumed their previous relations, the way they were prior to an entrance into a relationship. He didn't expect this. He doesn't know what he was expecting.

"I'm sorry I fucked things up."

She nods uncomfortably; this is not the road she had wanted the conversation to go.

"I'd rather not discuss this."

"Can you ever see me like you did once before?"

She looks away; something deep lodged in her throat. She finds herself starting and stopping, the words won't move past her vocals. It's quiet when she speaks, he wants to ignore the resignation in her voice.

"I would prefer if we became strangers."

He bites his lip, unsure how to proceed when he's granted with the silence following her statement; parts relieved when Mr. Schuester calls their name to perform.

He has to go first, and he nearly misses a note when he stares into her eyes.

Puck tries to make eye contact afterwards; perhaps there's hope yet but Rachel stares about his head, her gaze firmly planted on the items behind him. Her throat is tight, and she feels her singing; her inability to sing with emotion and passion and have it be up to par.

When the song is over, Mr. Schuester exclaims how amazing they sounded and Rachel tries not to throw up at his lies; vomit swimming in her throat. She curtsies, she doesn't even curtsy, and she promptly exits the room without a second glance. She walks into the auditorium and sits on the floor, attempting to steady her irregular breathing.

Her legs dangle off the stage, her palms downward on the cool surface. She stares out at the back of the auditorium, eyes on the ticking clock. It was just a gaze, she reassures herself. There was nothing more to the expression. He was being friendly. Friendly. She pushes the nagging thoughts from her mind, and continues to gaze outward.

Lost in thought, she doesn't hear someone sneak up behind her. She jumps when she feels their fingers tap on her shoulders, the rush of contact surprising her. She stands, her hand on her hip, a narrow expression tugging at the corners of her mind.

"You're Jesse. Jesse St. James," she says finally, his name uncomfortable on her lips. He sticks out his hand, her eyes gazing warily at the gesture. She should not be accepting handshakes with the enemy.

"And you're Rachel. Rachel Berry." He sticks out his hand again, and she gingerly takes it. They shake hands. She's surprised by the surface of his skin, how well it melds into hers. She drops his hand like fire when she realizes she's fraternizing with the enemy, wiping her palm against her checkered skirt.

The two of them stand there, awkwardly sizing each other.

"What are you doing here?" She asks him, aware they're standing in her auditorium, her territory. The enemy has surfaced on her turf, an unwelcome presence.

He shrugs, and holds out his palms as a gesture of friendliness.

"I'm not here to spy, if that's your main concern."

"Perhaps it is. We're three months from Regionals, and you're the enemy, located on unwanted territory."

He laughs, the sound foreign to her ears. She's never heard him laugh, or speak, really. She's only ever heard him sing, the strength of his voice carrying a well planned tune.

"Chill drama queen. I'm not here to spy. We're going to win, win with or without enemy secrets. I actually came for you."

"Me?" Rachel squeaks. She mentally chides herself for showing weakness. She should be stronger, possess a better defense field.

He nods, pulling a pen from his pocket. He writes his number on her palm, his fingers careful not to press in hard enough to smudge the numbers. Satisfied, Jesse pulls back, shooting her a lopsided grin. Rachel can't help but smile slightly, his enthusiasm is contagious.

"I hope you call, Rachel Berry. We have a lot to discuss."

He walks away, leaving a perplexed Rachel holding her hand. She finds herself smiling unexpectedly, her teeth tugging at her lower lip. She glances back at her palm, the casual blue ingraining itself into her memory.

She sits back on the auditorium floor, her thoughts rolling into a new direction. She is momentarily distracted from her thoughts on Puck, and she can't help but wonder what Jesse wants to discuss.


	5. Chapter 6

Rachel fiddles with the straw, twisting the plastic between her fingers. She's reluctant to take a sip of the soda in front of her, unsure as to why it is there to begin with. Normally, she abhors the taste of soda, the strength of the carbohydrates burning against her throat. Still, the drink is here in front of her, the presence taunting. She continues to press against the plastic, biting it within her fingers.

"I didn't think that you were the type to drink soda," says Jesse, sliding into the booth across from her, surprising her with his presence. He wrinkles his nose at the beverage, and Rachel suddenly feels the urge to discard the beverage into the nearest bin. Instead, she pushes it away guiltily, resolving to stick with the water on the other side.

"I'm not, I just felt like a change. That's not a crime, is it?"

There is an air of defensiveness in her tone, and Rachel rationalizes herself to calm down, to not pick a scene. It's just a beverage, she reassures herself. Beverages are not a reflection of the type of person she is, and perhaps he hadn't meant anything by the comment. Jesse stares at her, and she finds herself staring back; her body warmed by his eyes on her.

"That's good, I suppose. Sometimes change can be beneficial, even more so depending on which way it comes."

Rachel nods, the tightening in her throat deepening. She thinks that there is a deeper meaning that could be found within the weight of his words, but her head is too tired do decipher.

"What would you like to talk about?" She asks, changing the subject to neutral territories. "You did invite me here for a reason, and I'd like to get to the heart of the matter. I'd rather not waste my evening discussing my beverage choices. There are things that I need to finish."

Jesse smirks, unsurprised that a small comment would get to her. It's a trying time for her, easy enough to set her off.

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. I wasn't aware that I needed a reason to break bread with a fellow peer."

Rolling her eyes, Rachel searches for a calming remark in response. She vows to keep her composure, it's the strongest part of her.

"In case you haven't noticed, we're peers but not classmates. You are the competition, the competition I intend to ensure we steamroll come Spring. The only reason we need to be within the same vicinity of each other is if you're toasting to our win."

"Touche, Rachel. Touche."

An awkward silence settles over the table as the pair allows the waitress to take the order. Jesse observes Rachel answering, her voice calm and collected as she instructs the waitress to take care with the littlest details. Mildly impressed, he allows his mind to wander to recent events that have transpired within her life that past several days. He had heard of the break-up between her and the Puckerman boy, but the news had not caught him by surprise. He anticipated an end to the relationship, the couple was in possession of several vast differences. He frowns at the memories. Still, he had expected the break-up to be on the part of Rachel, not infidelity.

Jolted out of his thoughts, Jesse brings his thoughts back to the present moment when he hears Rachel's fingers snapping in front of his face.

"Earth to St. Jesse, come down to earth."

He chuckles in amusement, despite himself.

"While we wait for the food to arrive, perhaps you should discuss the real reasons you asked me to come here, to meet and talk with you."

"I meant what I said earlier, Rachel. I wasn't aware we needed a reason to break bread."

"That's not what you implied in the auditorium earlier, Jesse. You implied as though there were things that needed to be discussed, important things dealing with me. Here I am, I came, and I have no idea why I came but I'm here, and you won't even tell me why we have to talk."

"I wasn't aware there was an implication in my voice, that there was something hidden within my tone."

He pauses for a moment, and she leans in a little, expecting him to tell her why he's asked her here. She tries to downplay the eagerness in her eyes as she waits for him to fill her in with why he asked her to come.

"How are you taking the break-up?"

Rachel opens and closes her mouth, momentarily stunned by the change in the subject. Leaning back, she debates on asking him how he's learned this information.

"I'm not sure what relevance this topic plays within this meeting. My personal life is of no concern to you. The relationship has drawn to a close, and even that has nothing to do with you. Besides, since when does news of my personal life run rampant at Caramel?"

Jesse holds up his hands in a mock peace gesture, shrugging.

"It's of no concern to me, I'm merely inquiring what effects it would have on your team. You know, seeing as how both of you occupy the same team and everybody knows you shouldn't mix business with pleasure."

He takes a sip of water, the beats of silence skipping between them.

"Well, I suppose I shouldn't say that," he said, staring at her pointedly. "You did."

Rachel blinks furiously, an upset feeling forming at the bottom of her stomach. She doesn't see why this topic would be of any of his business, nor as to why he would bring it up to begin with.

"I'd rather not discuss this matter with others, especially a significant matter with yourself."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry, or overstep my boundaries."

Rachel shrugs, her gaze looking away from him. She taps her foot nervously against the tiled floor, the tightening feeling within her throat having returned. Her stare travels around the restaurant, she wishes that the food would arrive at a quicker pace so she can leave.

She's surprised when his hand covers her tapping fingers, even more so when he flips her hand to trace the pulse at her wrist. She knows that she should press his hand away, grab control of the situation but she finds herself immobile by the touch, paralyzed to move.

"I know what it's like to watch a relationship disintegrate because of outside priorities, to watch things fall apart beyond your control. If you need to talk, I'd be happy to provide a shoulder to cry on. Perhaps talking would take your mind off the issue, and move back where it belongs; the competition, of course."

Rachel jerks her hand away at the words, disbelief multiplying against his touch. She should have known better, and known that he would be focused on the main goal at hand. There is always an ulterior motive to being nice, and he's the competition no less.

"No, thank you."

"Uh, I'm sorry, I guess. I thought we were having a moment."

"No," Rachel said abruptly, coughing. "No moment. You misinterpreted things. Since when do you care about my feelings, anyway? I'm a member of the opposing team, in the event you've forgotten."

Jesse doesn't have a chance to reply, the waitress drops the food between them, diverting their thoughts to the dinner in front of them. Hungry before, Rachel finds a lost appetite, picking at her food for several minutes while Jesse devours his food.

Wiping his mouth with the napkin, he stares at her. He never would have taken her for a finicky eater.

"I didn't know you ate like a bird, Rachel. Not quite the turn-on you would think. I prefer girls with a little meat on their bones."

"It's not a turn-on, Jesse. I don't have any reasons to impress you, and I wouldn't care if I did. For your information, not that it's relevant, I've lost my appetite."

"I don't believe you. Take a couple of bites, I'm sure you're hungrier than you assume yourself to be."

"I'm not taking orders from you. I fail to believe you actually care about my health."

"It's not an order, really. I think you're reading too much into things. I would hate for you to faint in the middle of your loss because you've decided to transform your dietary habits to resemble that of a baby bird."

A small smile circles the corners of her mouth, a twinge of delight at his concern. He's oddly nurturing, in a discrete type of way. She didn't expect that of him, expecting someone with ice in his veins instead. Reluctantly, she takes a bite of her food, if only to distract him from continuing to stare at her.

"I don't see why you would care, anyway. A loss is a loss, whichever way it comes."

"That's not true. I would rather you lost the competition because of a poor performance, not as a result of the leading singer fainting halfway."

"We're not going to lose. No matter how many times you say it, we're not going to lose."

He walks her to her car afterwards, watches as she leans against the door frame, hand brushing strands from her eyes.

"Here," Jesse said, his hand pushing aside a strand she missed. "You missed one."

Her brows crease in confusion, her heart surprised by the feelings sprouting at his touch.

"I have to go," she said awkwardly.

"I know."

She fidgets, unsure how to say good-bye. She settles for a handshake, a quick one before she can feel the warmth of his fingers seep onto her hands.

"You didn't tell me what the reason for this meeting was," she shouted suddenly, her voice carrying through the window.

He turns to look at her, a smirk on the corners of his mouth. She begins to feel sick, staring at him as the lights of the evening sky beam across his face. She catches her breath watching him, terrified at how suddenly he looks like someone she could love with. He doesn't answer her, waving as he drives away.

Rachel crawls into her bed after, her eyes directed upwards at the imprints in the ceiling. She sighs heavily, turning to fluff the pillow. There are a lot of things that weigh heavy on her mind, preventing her from sleep. It's going to be a long night.


End file.
